


Deep Space Ace

by mezzotessitura



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mezzotessitura/pseuds/mezzotessitura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half human, half Vulcan, T'Preea is about to go through her first pon farr. Always letting her human physiology define her, she was never quite suited to Vulcan ways of mediation, though found herself to be a bit more logical than her human friends. But there's just one problem: she's asexual and sex-repulsed, making pon farr a difficult event to handle.</p><p>Based on the Star Trek universe, on Deep Space Nine, after the series is completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NaNoWriMo 2014, but I've since neglected the story and started a non-fandom book to write. I'll get back to it though! Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

It's going to happen soon. I know it. Other girls my age just have to worry about abdominal pain once a month, but I have to worry about something far worse. I mean, I still have to worry about that abdominal pain—I'm human, after all. But I'm also Vulcan, and that brings along its own problems—the worst of all being  _pon farr_.

That phrase has almost developed into an expletive for me—never fully knowing what it means, but always looming in my mind like the illogical event that it is. Because if there's anything I've gotten besides my slightly pointed ears and eyebrows, it's logic. I have so much logic, it's a wonder I'm able to contain it all. But I do—it's taken 21 years, but I've learned how to shut out logic if I want to, and instead turn on the emotions. Well, maybe not  _instead_ —I'm able to think like a normal, well-reasoning, human being. Being part Vulcan has nothing to do with it. They always seem so superior, hailing their ability to block out healthy, empowering emotions, when really they're just limiting themselves in life and doing what's expected of them just because it's  _logical_.

Maybe that's what makes it easier.

Some people—humans, Vulcans, doesn't really matter—are told "this is the way things are done" and they just go with it. In a way, that logically makes sense. If things have been happening that way for years, who are they to argue now? But that's how minority groups are marginalized. I've read about it happening, I know it has. That's why you have to fight back sometimes. But this is different.  _Way_ different. No one is being forced by others to ridicule others here. Instead, our Vulcan biology tells us—tells  _me_ —to find a mate or meditate. Those are my options. My friends would be pleased: "Why are you so against having a one-night stand with someone?" I can hear them saying. There are no more diseases or unwanted pregnancies like hundreds of years ago. Sex isn't such a taboo anymore either, especially when  _pon farr_ is considered a normal, healthy, part of life. So why do I have such a problem with it?

Because I'm asexual. 

Asexual, sex-repulsed, and demi-romantic. How could any of those traits  _possibly_ go with  _pon farr_? My body quite literally  _needs_ to have sexual relations with someone (preferably Vulcan) or I would die. Logically I know that survival is of the utmost importance, but emotionally I feel as though the opposite would be true, and if I were to have sex I would die. (Though I've heard of stories from the early 2000s when humans thought that having sex would almost certainly result in pregnancy and subsequently death, but of course this was never, ever the case.) The very core of my being repels the idea of sex, and even if I were to partake in such a ritual, there just isn't anyone I could ever see myself with to enjoy it. And though sexual attraction and romantic attraction are two very different things, I never even feel romantically attracted to anyone unless I first get to know them. 

Of course, the last two times I was expected to go through _pon farr_ , no sex was involved. Vulcans aren't complete monsters anymore, forcing their young children to partake in a biologically-driven ritual when they're still trying to wrap their heads around logic. Instead, they're given a medicinal supplement at age 7 to lower their urges when they're telepathically bonded with another. They go through the early stages like every other Vulcan—touching fingers noses—but it all ends there. The same happens at 14, but with stronger supplements to help resist the stronger urge. But by 21 and every seven years after, Vulcans are on their own. Do or die—quite literally—with no medical help. I'm sure Vulcan doctors could find a cure for this awful experience, but why would they if the process was logical and natural? Federation doctors could do it too, if the Vulcans would care to share. Unfortunately for me, caring involves emotions. 

But I can feel it coming—not only because I've marked it on a calendar, but because some Vulcan part of me can sense it. I fear for my life, literally and figuratively, with only one month to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Quarters_ **

Since there are exactly 28 days until my next _pon farr_ , Dr. Bashir insisted that I visit the infirmary before I begin my duty shift today. Even though I’d rather it wouldn’t happen at all, I’ve decided to treat the visit like every other well-visit I’ve had—and there have been many, thanks to my physiology. 

Since I’m such a late sleeper—which is usually fine, since my duty shift begins at 1300—I need to get ready quickly to make it to the infirmary by 1100, since Dr. Bashir says all of the tests could take up to two hours. Really I just think he has no idea what to expect since there aren’t many Vulcans on the station, let alone half-Vulcans. If I _were_ only Vulcan, I probably wouldn’t need to go to him at all because I would have been taught the logical intricacies of _pon farr_ at an early age. But since my Vulcan mother left her homeworld and many of its customs so long ago and much later married my father, Vulcan High Command would never allow any information to be given to Federation doctors about _pon farr_  that they didn’t deem medically necessary. And any reason to not go through the logical ritual of _pon farr_  would not be necessary.

So I put on my grey and blue uniform, packed up my PADDs that I’d been reading the night before— _The Most Effective Ways to Cross-Polinate the Gramilian Sand Pea_ , since Quark had been asking for a way to create other flavors—and headed to the infirmary.

**_Infirmary_ **

“Ah, T’Preea—er, Ms. Petrou—how lovely to see you this morning!” Dr. Bashir was clearly excited about something, but about what I did not know.

“Please, call me Tia. I barely act Vulcan, so why should I pretend that I am?” 

“Well, one cannot generally fight biology,” Bashir said, as I began fiddling with the bottom of my shirt. “I should know.”

“Sorry?” 

“Er, never mind. Now, hop up on the seat here and we’ll get you all sorted out.”

I oblige grudgingly, though of course Bashir is not the source of my animosity. The simple fact that I was there thanks to _pon farr_  was cause for alarm, though I suppose I was Vulcan enough to somewhat hide these emotions. I had a feeling though that Bashir knew something was wrong, but his bedside manner was impeccable and he never pried unless necessary. 

Bashir picked up a medical tricorder and began the exam. “Well, your records from Starfleet Medical indicate that you’ve more or less always been in perfect health, and your current scans indicate that as well, albeit with a slight neurochemical imbalance, which is normal this close to _pon farr_.”

“Brilliant,” I said sarcastically, and sighed. 

“Is there a problem? As I understand it, from the limited information Starfleet has on the process, this is good news,” Bashir replied. "We don’t have a lot of information, of course, but we have enough to ensure that those with part-Vulcan physiology are able to survive the ordeal safely.”

 _Survive the ordeal_ —it sounds just as awful from Bashir’s words as I imagined. 

“It’s just… what if I didn’t want to go through with it? Would that be so bad?”

“I… you don’t…” Dr. Bashir seemed to be at a loss for words, and from what I know about him that seemed out of character.

I sighed. “Okay, doctor–patient confidentiality, yeah?” He nodded. “I consider myself asexual.” His eyes became a bit wider and his mouth gaped a bit, but I continued on. “I do not want to have sex, I am not sexually attracted to anyone, and the idea of sex freaks me out a bit. No, a lot. And _pon farr_  is the cherry on top.”

I think Dr. Bashir realized that he was rudely staring, but he quickly snapped out of it with a minute shake of the head before he said anything. “Oh. Oh… I, um—sorry, this is not where I was expecting this examination to go. Asexual Vulcan…” he seemed to forget I was in the room and wandered to his desk in a bit of a daze. 

“Half Vulcan,” I reminded him. 

“Yes, sorry. Apologies. At Starfleet Medical we were of course taught about sexuality and, er, lack thereof, but we really only covered this on a psychological basis. That’s not to say that we were taught that asexuality was abnormal—quite the opposite, in fact. But we never went into the social or emotional implications of it—at least, not in my medical courses. I wonder though…” Bashir seemed to forget I was there again. “Doctors have been able to delay or prevent other biological processes, like menstruation, so why not _pon farr_?”

Bashir’s words seemed too good to be true. “Do you think it could be prevented?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t see why not.” He picked up a PADD and began flipping through virtual pages. “It’s all a matter of balancing your hormones and endorphins, not letting them rise to critical levels. But…"

“What?”

“It may not work,” he frowned. “Messing with such important bodily functions, no matter appalling they may be, can be disastrous. And with only a month left…”

“Doctor, at this point I’m up for anything.” I smiled. “Thank you so much for offering to help, I know you must have so many other patients to tend to.”

“Well, I came out here for what I used to call ‘frontier medicine,’ and if I accomplish this, that may very well be what I do."


	3. Chapter 3

**_Promenade_ **

Since Dr. Bashir wanted to get started right away with finding a way around _pon farr_ , he took a few more readings of me with his medical tricorder and then told me he would be in contact when he finds something or needs more information. 

Of course the visit was much shorter than either of us had expected, and now I had well over an hour before my duty shift in the arboretum. I decided to walk around the promenade a bit to clear my head, but halfway around I realized I hadn’t really eaten yet. At all, actually. I was so worked up about things that I didn’t have much of any appetite earlier, but now my stomach was protesting more and I knew I wouldn’t make it through six hours in the arboretum later without sampling the edible plants. 

I didn’t want to visit Quark’s—too loud even before 1200, and he’d surely ask me about Gramilian sand peas—so I headed to the replimat where I would hopefully be left alone to my thoughts.

“Kava roll, warm, and Jestral tea, 65 degrees C, please.” I stared into the replicator as my breakfast—possibly lunch—swirled into existence. 

I found my favorite table, sat down, and tried to read although I knew my mind would wander. It always seemed to be a bit warmer at this table, another part of my Vulcan physiology that I couldn’t resist, though I didn’t really care to. I wished the station temperature controls were at the former Cardassian settings of 32 °C because that’s closer to where I like it, but luckily I was able to fix my quarters’ settings to my liking when I arrived here six months ago. 

Yes, even though I’m not quite 21 I have graduated from Starfleet Academy. I’m still not entirely sure how I managed to be accepted at 16—perhaps my logical reasoning helped me fare better than others in tests—but I did it and graduated not long after I was 20. 

When I was young, I was always interested in plants—the irony of my interest in the asexual reproduction of plants still makes me chuckle—and pushed myself at a young age to get into Starfleet as soon as possible so I could learn and work with alien plant life. My hard work paid off and I passed my non-biology courses almost as well as biology and exobiology. I didn’t really care about the knowledge I would need for space travel, but I worked almost as hard at those subjects because I knew the better at those I was, the better I would be overall and thus more likely to graduate early despite my age.

It was a bit difficult being one of the youngest cadets there—though of course this became easier as I grew older—especially in social situations. For a while I thought this was simply because I was younger and therefore didn’t really care about more “adult” things like my older peers. While this was partly true, I later realized that I wasn’t quite like most of my humanoid peers. We were all mostly past puberty, but when it came to free time, I spent my time socializing with friends and almost everyone else did that _plus_ people they were attracted to. I didn’t see what was so important about the latter—we were all young, with plenty of time to settle down and raise a family well after we were done with the Academy. Even with the Dominion War going on it seemed illogical to me, since we should have been focusing on our studies in order to help the Federation and save lives. But the flirting and throwing themselves at one another were even more frequent during those two years regardless of how much they studied.

It took me a little while to realize that the war was actually what made them do this. They all wanted to feel physically closer to someone, not necessarily to settle down and start a family.

At the time, I asked my friend Makeda why everyone seemed more concerned about flirting than what was happening in the rest of the quadrant.

“They’re just attracted to one another, plain and simple,” she told me. “Don’t you ever feel like just taking off all your clothes with some attractive person and…do it?”

I grimaced. “No, that would make me uncomfortable.”

“Do you…do you find people attractive?”

I thought for a second. “If someone mentions in passing that someone else is attractive, I’ll probably consider it and agree. But I don’t usually think of it on my own.”

“Maybe you’re asexual,” Makeda said matter-of-factly.

“Hmm,” I said. I had heard of the term, not just in biology, but I hadn’t given it a lot of thought either. I was never concerned about sexuality because it didn’t really make an impact on my life. “I think you could be right.”

Since then, I’d read more about asexuality and decided that was what I was. While it seemed logical to me to feel a “need to breed,” as it were, emotionally I didn’t feel it at all. Still, it brought embarrassment, either thanks to close-minded people or feeling embarrassed simply by seeing others people kissing.

But that doesn’t mean I’ve never felt any attraction to anyone. There was one cadet, Hayden Chalet, for whom I developed romantic attraction. He, too, was studying to be a botanist and we tended to study for exams together more often than not. After a few months of this, I noticed that I’d sometimes think about lying in the grass of the Academy grounds with him, maybe roll onto my side and look at him, and he’d kiss me. I didn’t really know how far this would go in my mind, and as soon as the kissing happened it was as if I was watching the scene from third person, watching Hayden kiss someone else.

This was all a fantasy though, and as far as I could tell he had no romantic feelings for me. I didn’t even have romantic feelings for him until a few months of us spending time together, and even then this third person kissing was the furthest these fantasies would go. Even if I had acted on my attraction and Hayden had reciprocated, I wouldn’t have known what to do with it.

We eventually lost touch with one another and Hayden was assigned to the _Goddard_ upon graduation. My attraction toward him faded with time, and though I missed him, I wasn’t any sadder to see him leave than any other friend I missed. Occasionally I wondered if I really did feel attracted to him at all, or if it was just the idea of him that made me think I was attracted. Sometimes, though, when I felt lonely and wanted some comfort, I would close my eyes and imagine lying on the grass with Hayden again. In this fantasy, though, Hayden is somehow faceless—but not in a terrible and disturbing way—as though he could be anyone and also no one all at once. Just the idea of someone being there, as a comforting friend who may or may not be a lover, could help soothe my mind during a stressful day. I guess that’s all those other cadets ever really wanted, to feel close to someone in the way they felt comfortable, even though their level of comfort was entirely different from mine.

And that seemed logical.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Arboretum_ **

After I finished my Kava roll and calming Jestral tea, I headed to the arboretum. Once the war had ended, Starfleet had more time and resources for more than just defense. One of Starfleet goals was to find an outlet for people so they could relax and find peace with all the destruction. Most planets already had parks and gardens for finding serenity, but most off-world starbases only had holodecks. Those are great, but only a certain number of programs could run at a time.

So the Federation began building arboretums, or at least gave the starbase residents the materials to do so. This station’s former chief of operations designed this arboretum about five years ago, though the plans weren’t put into effect until after the war. From what I’ve heard, his wife was also a botanist but they moved back to Earth before it was built.

The arboretum has a way of healing in ways that Dr. Bashir cannot, and maybe also in ways that Counselor Dax fails on her own. Dax can help counsel with words, emotions, and reasoning, but sometimes it is enough simply to be in a comforting environment.

But the arboretum isn’t just a place for relaxation. It’s given the station a chance to make something together. And the promenade is great for socializing, but sometimes a little quiet among the plant life is a refreshing change from the usual Cardassian architecture.

Almost anyone was free to grow flora in the arboretum, provided they would care for their plot and it wasn’t dangerous to other people or plants. Trained botanists, such as myself, take care of the arboretum as a whole, making sure that even the crops grown by the most inexperienced people will bloom to the fullest.

But the other botanists and I don’t just water the plants and keep them from dying. We grow crops for consumption, including mobas, alvas, and uttaberries, and plomeek, and frequently work to cross-pollinate different species, like the Gramilian sand peas I’m working on for Quark.

When I arrived at the arboretum at 1300, I found Counselor Dax sitting on a bench reading from a PADD. She frequently comes to the arboretum with crewmembers or civilians that are in need of relaxation or escape from technology on a technology-filled starbase. But today she was alone.

Since she was the only one in the immediate area, I thought it would be good to say hello. “Good afternoon, Counselor Dax,” I said as I approached.

She looked up from her reading and smiled brightly. “Ensign Petrou! Just the person I was hoping to see.”

I furrowed my pointed eyebrows and turned my head quizzically. “Me?”

“Yes, Julian—I mean, Dr. Bashir, told me about the trouble you have been having.” She bit her lip. “Er, he didn’t say it in a gossipy way, he told me because he’s a doctor and I’m a counselor. Patient confidentiality between doctors, and all that.”

“That’s fine, I understand.” I stood there silent for a few seconds before I realized Dax was waiting for me to say more. I guess she realized I didn’t know what to say next, so she continued.

“I know how difficult it can be trying to understand your sexuality—believe me, I’ve had nine lifetimes of figuring it out over and over again, and I still don’t have it all figured out. No one ever really does completely. Anyway, I know you have work to do now but if you want to come to my office at some point, we can talk about everything. You don’t have to, of course, but I know that while most people will listen and sympathize, they still may not quite get it. Most will still think that you just haven’t found the right person or you just don’t know because you haven’t tried. And while I, Ezri, haven’t felt the way you have, I remember what it’s like because a previous Dax, Tobin, felt the same.

“So if you’d like to talk, come in at any time.” She smiled. “I’m confident that Julian will be able to figure something out to counteract _pon farr_ , but if he isn’t completely successful I want to you to know that I’m here for you—not just as a counselor, but as a friend.”

The whole time she spoke I mostly stood there dumbfounded, and I found tears well up in my eyes. I then surprised myself by closing the short distance between us and before I knew it I was hugging her. A few seconds passed and I withdrew. “Sorry. I mean, thank you. Yes, I will be sure to do that.”

Dax gave me a crooked, knowing smile. “I’m just glad I can help. Well—I should probably let you get back to your Gramilian sand peas.” She picked up her PADD and turned to leave the arboretum.

“How do you know about that?”

She turned around, smiling mischievously. “Please, do you think Quark really had the lobes to think of making those peas taste better?” She laughed. “His favorite meal is a plate of tube grubs.”


	5. Chapter 5

**_Quarters_ **

After a fairly unproductive shift in the arboretum—no matter which sand I tried, the altered Gramilian peas refused to take root—I headed back to my quarters before meeting my friend, Thira, at Quark’s for dinner.

When I walked in the room I found my personal viewscreen blinking, indicating that someone had left a message. Hardly anyone ever calls except my parents or a few friends, but in those cases we talk on a regular basis and no one was due to call.

I sat down at my desk, clearing some space for a few PADDs I brought back from the arboretum, and picked up my crochet hook and yarn. Even before attending Starfleet Academy I discovered that crocheting helped me relieve stress or just fill up some time in the day. Now that I’m on this station and it’s a bit too cold for me, I tend to make jumpers that I can wear when I don’t need to be in uniform.

With my hook in my right hand, I pressed the playback button on the viewscreen with my left. But all hope was lost on the crocheting front when I saw Solkon’s face appear, the Vulcan male I had been essentially betrothed to at age seven.

“Good day, T’Preea. I hope you are well. I am certain you are aware that both of us will be going through _pon farr_ in twenty-eight days. If you have not yet found a suitable partner, I would be yours if you wish, either at Deep Space 9 or if you travel to Vulcan. Please inform me at your earliest convenience.” He nodded infinitesimally. “Solkon out,” and he disappeared.

My breathing sped rapidly, and suddenly it was too warm in my quarters. For the past eight hours I had tried to put the subject of _pon farr_ out of my mind, and when I did think about it I focused on the prospect of Dr. Bashir’s remedy. But now, with Solkon wanting an answer quickly, I have no chance of evading the subject completely, even for a little while.

When young Vulcans first go through _pon farr_ , their parents arrange them to mate with one another. More traditional families tend to hope for this to result in marriage, though choosing one’s own mate later in life is also acceptable.

Around age seven I was paired with Solkon, as his family members were friends of my mother, and we were telepathically bonded. _Pon farr_ didn’t always begin so early in life, but after medicinal supplements to help resist these urges had be introduced to Vulcans at a young age, the population gained the unwelcome ability to go through _pon farr_ earlier. Of course adults did not want their children to go through the biological changes _too_ early—after all, puberty begins at a similar age in Vulcans as it does to humans, and therefore _pon farr_ isn’t very appropriate until one is biologically ready—so the medicinal supplements were altered to dampen the full physical urges of _pon farr_ at ages seven and fourteen. At those ages, _pon farr_ only involves finger touching and the telepathic bonding.

So twice I have only become telepathically close to Solkon, but I was young and didn’t fully understand the possible depth of what was occurring. After all, we were both young and naïve without many worries. I don’t really remember the first time since I was so young and it feels so long ago, but I do remember that the second time I felt exhilarated by the mental closeness, and a bit saddened with its end. Because of my human genes and upbringing, this bonding made me emotionally attached to him for a time though I would never admit it, making me believe I wanted us to have a more constant relationship together. Of course Solkon felt none of these things—having blocked any possible emotions—and simply was content with having fulfilled such a necessary task.

I have since discovered my asexuality, and though the idea of the possible telepathic link may scare me, the frightening idea of sex is at the forefront of my mind. Plus the possibility of Solkon carrying out the dreaded _koon-ut-so’lik_ —Vulcan marriage proposal—just makes everything worse. There is no question that I would not accept the proposal, but I still feel apologetic for not doing so, as the decision affects Solkon just as much as it affects me. But I can’t emotionally deal with responding to him right now, even to decline.

I do have the choice to go through _pon farr_ with a hologram simulation. Other Vulcans have used this method before, usually in the cases of deep space exploration, when there is no one else suitable to partake in the ritual. But although a hologram isn’t a real person and therefore it would be illogical for me to feel embarrassment by being seen unclothed, I imagine I would still feel dirty and uncomfortable just by being there, let alone going through with the act of sex. And doing it in one of Quark’s holosuites would make me feel even more uncomfortable.

So with thirty minutes to go before meeting Thira for dinner, I picked up my crochet hook and unfinished jumper to continue my project with intensity. I was always terrible at mediation, so projects such as this usually took its place for relieving my anxiety, though apparently not today. I could tell right away that this jumper would turn out horrible as I was having trouble concentrating on the task at hand, but I could just put it back in the replicator and start again one day.

I only wished fixing other problems were as easy.


End file.
